


Sharp Teeth Against Soft Flesh

by MurderDaddies (lovebxllets)



Category: Dark Shadows (1966), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bloodlust, Blow Jobs, Brainwashing, Caning, Corporal Punishment, Dark Shadows Based, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Empath, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, Hannigram - Freeform, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, I'm pandering to my own kinks, Love/Hate, M/M, Marlana - Freeform, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Paranormal, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Tactile Empathy, Torture, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vampires, Vergercest, Werewolves, Witches, completely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebxllets/pseuds/MurderDaddies
Summary: Ravenport, Maine is a town that is rich with gossip and scandal despite its small size. Like any old town, it has its own lore and legends. There have been no violent crimes in the last sixty years outside of the rare suicide from Widow’s Hill or the odd motor accident, at least, none that had come to light.Will Graham and his childhood friend and bedmate, Frederick Chilton, hadn’t set foot there for more than a dozen years until -desperate for money- both returned to blackmail a prominent member of the community. But soon Will finds that his greed comes at a great cost when he becomes enslaved to a nearly two-hundred-year-old bestial creature with a thirst for blood and an appetite for violence.~~~⊰♥⊱~~~Hannigram AU based on the original Dark Shadows series (You don't have to know anything about Dark Shadows to understand this story)
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Margot Verger, Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Barnabas Collins/Willie Loomis, Chiyoh & Hannibal Lecter, Chiyoh/Hannibal Lecter, Dr. Frederick Chilton & Will Graham, Dr. Frederick Chilton/Will Graham, Margot Verger & Mason Verger, Margot Verger/Mason Verger, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Sharp Teeth Against Soft Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Alana Bloom is now Alana Lecter -she's related to Hannibal (in what way will be explained later in the story)

Early October 1966

It was a crisp, nearly starless night, the air stung Will Graham's lungs just a little as he breathed. He squinted trying to see what lied in the distance, trying to locate the object of his search.

The patchy frost-covered emerald carpet crunched softly beneath his muddy and worse for wear boots. Fog from the sea had washed over the area like a great white wave that prevented him from seeing more than a foot ahead of him at a time. The half-moon and his flashlight did very little to improve his visibility.

The weather was typical for early Autumn in Ravenport Maine, but what wasn't typical was the air of evil that hung heavily that night over Eagle Hill Cemetery, the young man felt it subconsciously, but chose not to acknowledge it, his plans would not be dissuaded by a premonition that _might_ turn out to be right.

The graveyard was alive with shadows that seemed to dance between the headstones in the moonlight. It was a still night, and save for the distant call of an owl, it was silent.

Some people may have felt shame intruding on the dead like this or some may have felt fear or even a measure of the respect that was due to the dearly departed. He felt none of these. He was indifferent to his surroundings, he gave no more thought to being there than being in a supermarket.

Walking amongst the final resting place of many of the town’s previous residents, he was reminded of a time when he broke into a funeral home with his friend Frederick Chilton.

They were morbidly curious youths, maybe eleven or twelve at the time, although he didn't exactly remember their ages now, they had broken in with the sole purpose of viewing the body because they'd never seen one before.

He could still picture the deceased Mrs. Doemling, the mortician's own mother, in her prim and proper stiff black dress -the one he remember seeing her wear to church every Sunday. He knew he'd never forget her unnaturally pale skin nor the empty shell look her face held.

Frederick had dared Will to take her garnet ring, he did -even though he puked once he parted ways with his friend that night- and he still had it to this day. No matter what kind of pinch he was in or how much he could use the money, he found it too beautiful to part with. It was the first real jewel he'd ever held let alone possessed and he couldn't bear to let it go. He often carried it around with him in one of his pockets.

However, a few years ago Will told Frederick he'd sold it when he asked him for money and suggested the ring as a means of getting it when Will said he had none.

He'd always loved jewels and the way they reflected the light in pinpoint sparkles that could easily manage to hold his attention for hours. They were his weakness and when he looked at such things of beauty he easily forgot the pleasure any lover brought him, the ecstasy they sparked within him was greater than that of any carnal tryst.

Will went another twenty or thirty feet making his way slowly through the overgrowth that had begun to take over before he saw the Lecter family mausoleum, he smiled already anticipating the jewels he’d find hidden within.

He hadn’t set foot in the small town for more than fifteen years, he and his mother moved from there when he was in his late teens after his father's disappearance. The two traveled around frequently and never seemed to be attached to any one place enough to stay for more than four or five months at a time. His mother died six years later. He continued living in the same way, never staying in one place for too long, only now he found companionship with Chilton, and their deeds were less legal. 

But even as he eventually invited Frederick into his bed, there was no love between them, only an understanding of and dependency on each other that came from neither having any bonds besides the other.

Will had always hated Ravenport, so he’d never looked back until Frederick -who had vowed to never return to the town after finding a way out- asked him to do just that. He wanted Will's help in one of his many schemes, one he promised would make them both rich. It seemed he had information on an imminent member of the town, information that they wouldn't want to come to light, and he intended to use it to both of their advantages, although he wouldn't tell him exactly what information he held.

He’d promised Will it would only take a week at the most, he made it sound so easy, money ripe for the picking. This was far from the pair's first scheme together, and although they'd never been anywhere close to rich before, most of his plans did work out, and they’d provided enough money for them to survive.

For all of Frederick’s faults, he had never lied to him -not about anything important at any rate- nor had he ever let him down, and for that, he had his trust and loyalty, and his -somewhat- obedience. Will was a stubborn man, with a head of iron, and if he set his mind to something no one could change it, he would never be owned by or fully obedient to anyone.

Once in Ravensport, he remembered the stories he’d heard as a child about a fortune in family jewels being buried with Count Lecter and his wife.

Will had yet to tell Frederick about any of this. They’d gotten in a tiff two days prior and Chilton made the mistake of telling Will ‘he couldn’t make it without him’, ‘he was a fuck up’, ‘he fucked everything up’, and ‘he couldn’t get a dime on his own’. He needed to prove him wrong. Besides, if he had taken him along and the stories turned out to be bullshit on a stick he didn’t want to be elbows deep in a coffin with Frederick glaring at him with that judgemental, self-righteous look of his while silently -or perhaps even verbally- repeating what a fuck up he was.

The mausoleum, a small, gray building that looked as cold as death itself with tall, thin wrought iron double doors at the entrance, was protected by a chain and a padlock. Will -having anticipated this- took a pair of bolt cutters from the black bag that hung from his shoulder and dealt with the minor obstacle before unlatching the hook and swinging the doors open. He closed and relatched them behind him.

It was several degrees cooler within, he set his bag down and reached to zipper his half done up jacket the rest of the way. He moved the beam of his flashlight over the three coffins the mausoleum held, then raised it and saw that there were names and dates carved into the stone wall at the head of each -only there were four of these.

The first read;

HANNIBAL LECTER  
VII  
1743 - 1812

The second;

SIMONETTA LECTER  
1744 - 1795

The third -which was absent of the death date;

HANNIBAL LECTER  
VIII  
1751 -

There was no coffin below this engraving. He hadn’t been buried with his family. Had a falling out taken place all those years ago? Maybe. It didn’t matter. There was no time to be wasted on such an inconsequential thing, after all, Hannibal Lecter the seventh had been dead for well over a hundred years.

And finally the fourth;

MISCHA LECTER  
BELOVED ANGEL  
CALLED HOME TOO SOON  
1787 - 1795

She had been only eight years old when she died, he would not disturb her rest as he planned to do with the other two. Not only did the thought of opening a child’s coffin send a shiver down his spine, but he also figured not too much of value would have been placed with her.

Near the top of the wall, at the middle, was a fierce Raven’s head made of stone, gray instead of jet black as a real one would be, but it was so finely detailed, from the perfectly etched feather lines to the menacing eyes, he could easily imagine it to be the head of a real bird. It was nearly four times the size of an actual raven, it’s beak was open as if to shout an eternal warning, and around its neck hung a medallion with the Lecter family seal; A raven, prominent at the center, on either side of which stood a reared up wolf. In the background, there was a sword with vines leaves wrapped around it, and at the bottom, the name ‘LECTER’ on a ribbon.

The wind rose suddenly making the double doors rattle before a strong gust undid the latch and made them swing inwards. They hit against the wall loudly, he turned his light toward the noise. They shook for a few moments more before the wind stilled as suddenly as it had arisen and the room became silent. He turned back to what he was doing, not bothering to close them again.

He got out a crowbar and -deciding to start with Simonetta’s coffin- began to pry the nails out. There were ten nails in all, he was working on the eighth when he heard an odd noise. A thump, no- two, three...a continuous rhythm, it was low and steady, then it grew louder but kept the same pace and now he knew that 'thud' was not the right word, the right one was… 'Beat'.

Yes, a beating that became more resounding by the second and the rhythm did not falter.

**Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.**

Horrified, Will realized it was the beating of a heart he heard and it was not his own nor was it even physically possible to hear another person's heart like this -as if he were listening to it through a doctor's stethoscope. It echoed through his mind like a shriek in a large room.

**Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.**

_It's coming from behind the wall._

He raised his light to the wall with the etchings, it was as if he expected it to come at him or open and swallow him up. Apprehension couldn't even begin to describe the feeling that settled over him. Now more than ever the sensation that he didn't belong there was present. He was an intruder, a thief stomping on the dead to steal the valuable possessions their loved ones buried with them.

The dead did not want him here and he felt that the heartbeat was a warning to flee before it was too late.

He froze and considered leaving.

_But..._

At the same time, the heartbeat that rendered his spine to jelly and told him to be gone seemed to be beckoning him, telling him to find the source, come to it because it needed him.

_This can't be real._

He knew the dead could not rise, they could not threaten him, they were gone, he didn't believe in ghosts.

**Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat.**

_It is real and it's coming from behind the wall!_

Fear reached out to tickle his spine and he shivered, turned away from the coffin, took several swift steps fully planning to run, abandon his tools, and forget his greed-driven mission.

Then the sound stopped and so did he.

Everything was still, he held his breath and quickly scanned the small room to make sure he was alone.

_Get ahold of yourself, Graham, you're hearing things._

He took a breath to soothe himself.

_To think a reasonable man like you was reduced to near hysteria by being in a shadowy graveyard, you've never been superstitious in your life, don't start now._

He laughed at himself aloud for being so ridiculous, expecting it to make him feel better, but the laugh sounded more nervous than he'd intended. Rubbing his face in annoyance and impatientness, he internally derided himself until his fear was dispelled.

_Are you seriously going to let your imagination scare you out of a fortune?_

The answer was no.

_Fuck no._

Will Graham was not a man without a conscious, but he didn’t understand why he was letting this affect him so, if anything should have inspired such guilt -enough to make him hallucinate- it should have been what he and Frederick did two years ago, not this. The dead had no need for jewels or money, he did, and he was hurting no one by being there and taking them.

He started to hum Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones, a song had been stuck in his head since May shortly after its release. He resumed where he’d left off, but instead of lifting the lid once he removed the nails, he turned his light once again to the raven’s head. He felt like it was watching him.

He didn’t realize he was walking toward it until he stood in front of it with no more than a few inches of space between him and the wall, he felt his hand raising as if it knew something he didn’t. Grabbing the bird by its beak, he turned the head to the side. He heard a pop, then a long creak, a portion of the wall -about four feet wide and seven feet tall- slowly swung outward revealing a doorway to another room.

Everything was still, the darkness of the secret room called to him. He didn’t bother to question the odd sensation that led him to find it, he only knew that a secret room meant there was something in there that needed to be hidden, kept away where no one could find it unless they knew of its existence or with a great bit of luck -something like a fortune in jewels perhaps.

He shined his flashlight into the room while standing at the entrance, it was quite small, there was a stone slab in the center and on it set a large wood box- no -a coffin. He scanned the rest of the room and saw there was nothing else in it before he picked up the bag he brought with him and walked down the four stone steps into the room. He dropped his bag by the coffin, which he now saw had chains, with multiple nuts and bolts to lock them, wrapped around it. The damp air had caused the metal chain as well as the hardware keeping it fastened to rust.

“Just like a member of _the great_ Lecter family to do something so crazy as hiding the family valuables in a chained coffin in a hidden room in a mausoleum,” his tone dripped with sarcasm.

He held a disdain for the entire Lecter family, he’d never met one who treated him like a human being, and he’d never forgiven Alana Lecter for how she’d humiliated him years before. In truth, maybe he’d been a little eager to join Frederick in blackmailing her because of it.

Once again, he used his bolt cutters to remove the chain. When the last chain fell, Will used the back of his gloved hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, no matter the chill the night air held or the cold draft of the mausoleum, he was sweating, he removed his jacket, then tossed it on top of the bag. He ran his hand over the rough wood as he stared down at the coffin, he tapped his fingers in slow, repetitive movements, something inside him was telling him not to open it.

 _Ridiculous_.

He opened it, a loud creak split the silence, and then he screamed.


End file.
